


The Liberation of Barbarus

by Lucreace



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Angst, Darkness, Death, F/M, Fear, Hate, Poison, Violence, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-09 09:25:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17404307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucreace/pseuds/Lucreace
Summary: Life on Barbarus is hard, the land offers little in the way of resources and the cold days are short. At night, the dead plague the living, stealing what they can and destroying everything as they go. Ruled by a tyranical overlord, the people live short lives. When Moira discovers a pale, gaunt stranger one day, she sets in motion a chain of events that will change their lives forever





	1. Chapter 1

Barbarus was not a forgiving planet. The dense, noxious fog obscured the wan sunlight leaving the planet in perpetual gloom. What light did filter through the pale green clouds allowed the barest of growth, in both the plant life that clung to the ground and the people who eked out a living on them. Living in the gloom had turned the people into hardy creatures. Slight of build but by no means weak, they’d managed to create a simple existence, plagued only by the presence of vicious overlords.

Moira’s life was no different to that of her peers. Her days were spent tending the fields that sustained the village in which she lived, the nights tending to repairs and other menial jobs that made sure they were able to survive another day. It wasn’t a bad existence, her parents cared for her and her brother, Michael and they were well liked. They were by no means in charge of the village but that suited her to the ground. Yes, her life was difficult but she was content with the lot she had been dealt with.

Moira knew she was no beauty, her life didn’t allow for her to take particularly good care of herself. Still, her hair wasn’t dull and her skin was smooth. Her palms were calloused but her eyes were clear.

None of that mattered the day their lives changed.

Michael and she had been working in the field all morning, weeding and tending the small crops to ensure their survival. She had straightened up, pressed her hands to her lower back and stretched out, “We should stop for lunch,” she said. The sun was passed the centre of the sky and breakfast had been hours ago.

“We should finish first!” he replied.

“I’m hungry,” she said. He gestured to the bed and she sighed before picking up the hoe once again. She was about to begin the next row when she heard footsteps. They were not the sure steps of someone who knew where they were going, but the shuffling stumble of someone injured. Looking up the dust covered street, she saw a tall figure making his way down the road. “Michael,” she snapped. Her brother looked up and she jerked her head.

Dragging her hoe behind her, she crossed to the road, “Hey!” she called out. Dull, glazed eyes met her for the briefest moments. “Are you alright?” It immediately became obvious that everything was not well. The stranger took another step forward on wobbly legs, he swayed for a moment then pitched forward, landing on his side with a thud.

She was moving forward before she had time to think. “Come on Michael!” Her brother was at her side and they were leaning over the stranger.

“Where did he come from?” she asked.

“Best we leave him here!” Moira slapped his arm and shook her head.

“Oh don’t you even think about it. You pick him up and bring him to the house.”

“What if he’s one of them?”

She bent over and brushed her mud covered hand on the light blue skirt she was wearing. Once her hand was clear of dust, she gently pressed it against the stranger’s neck. “No,” she said with a shake of her head, “This one has a pulse.”

“But look at the size of him.”

“I’ll help you carry him, we can’t leave him out here in the middle of the road,” she said. The stranger was an odd looking fellow. Tall and sallow skinned, he appeared to be covered in fine scars. He was wrapped in rags, his slender form hidden around the various scraps that it looked as though he had scavenged. Her brother leaned down beside her and she looked up at him, “We can’t leave him here,” he said. For a moment, she thought he was going to leave her to it. That was until he rolled his eyes and thrust his hand underneath the body.

“I’m eating your share of lunch,” he groused. She nodded, following on his heels as he carried the stranger back to their house.

Their home was not large. It was a single storey building with three rooms; a kitchen, a sitting room and their parent’s bedroom. Moira and her brother had a small room each in an adjacent building. It was to the sitting room that Michael directed them now. The moment he was there, he laid the stranger down gently on the floor before the fire. “He’s you’re problem now,” Michael said, “Better make sure he’s gone before Ma gets back.”

“Don’t you worry,” Moira said, though her brother had already turned his back and was walking away muttering under his breath.

Moira wasted no time; she collected a blanket from the shelf in her parent’s bedroom and one of the cushions from the chair. Making sure he was well wrapped up, she then placed the pillow under his head before sitting back. The fire had banked low, so she set about building it up again. The stranger had been cold to the touch and his skin was pale. She hoped he wasn’t sick with something; that would be a disaster.

Once the fire was seen to, Moira set about seeing to dinner. Cooking was not her forte however she knew enough to make something edible. She set a large cauldron onto the tripod and began adding vegetables. Broth was what she had in mind. All the while, she looked through the archway, keeping an eye on the stranger who appeared to be sleeping before the fire.

Leaving the pot be, she picked up an end of bread and returned to the sitting room. She pressed her hand against the forehead of the stranger and let out a sigh, “You better wake up soon mister, else Ma’s going to be mighty upset when she gets home.”

She withdrew her hand and sat beside his head, keeping a watchful eye on him.

Moira had no idea how much time had passed when his eyelids began to flicker. His breathing shifted rhythm and she smiled; he was coming back round. She resisted the temptation to touch, instead, she swallowed the piece of bread in her mouth and waited. “Hey there,” she said softly. She was answered with a soft moan from thin lips. “It’s alright, you’re safe,” she said. Safe was always a relative state of being in their lives but she had to say something; it was better than being on the road at least.

Slowly, the stranger opened his eyes. The first thing she noticed was the pale grey of his iris, flecked with hard granite and hints of sky blue. They were the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. Next came the panic; the way they darted around the room, not landing on anything for more than a moment. The glimmer of intelligence followed and he didn’t move much more than his eyes. “It’s alright,” she said again.

“Where is this?” he said. His voice was little more than a hushed whisper, as if his throat had been damaged at one point and healed badly.

“You’re in Rooth,” she replied, “On the sitting room floor of my parent’s house.” She watched as a brilliant flush coloured his cheeks for a moment before it faded once more. “You’re safe here, my brother and I found you walking on the road. I asked after you and you fell. We brought you here,” she said.

“Why?”

“It’s the right thing to do. No one should be left out in the road like that, never know what else might have found you,” she said. His eyes closed again and he seemed to sag underneath the blanket he was wrapped up in.

“Who are you?” he said, not opening his eyes again just yet.

“Moira,” she replied.

“Mortarion,” he said. She nodded, committing the name to memory and offered the stranger, who was no longer a stranger, a smile. His eyes opened again and this time, relief coloured them. “Thank you,” he said.

“Not sure my Ma is going to be so understanding however we’ll deal with her when she gets here, you hungry?” she asked. She pushed stray strands of corn coloured hair back from her head and slowly eased herself off the floor. The noise coming from his stomach made her smile, “There’s stew for later on but there’s some bread if you want it.”

He nodded and she scooted off to fetch something for him to munch on until later. She returned with buttered bread on a plate and handed it to him. Mortarion sat up then, keeping the blanket wrapped around him, he leaned against the chair before taking the plate. Moira noticed that he was rather tall, far taller than she was, and her brother, who was considered a giant among the village. She leaned against the opposite chair and wondered how she was going to explain this to her parents. Or anyone else in the village for that matter, they would be more than a little curious at the newcomer!

She was about to ask him where he had appeared from, what he was doing on the road and where he was going to when the door opened. Both of them looked around and in walked her mother. “Moira! What in the world are-“ The words died on her lips when she noticed the stranger sat on the floor. Her hands came to rest on her hips and her face turned into a deep scowl. “I think you better explain what’s going on in here, you should be helping your brother in the fields!”

“I can explain!” she said calmly. She then began telling her everything that had happened that afternoon, down to the last detail, “You raised me to be kind to those around me and to never leave anyone who I can aid.” She felt a little bad using her mother’s words against her like that but she felt Mortarion had needed her help. “I’d not have been able to sit right knowing I could have done something about it.”

Her mother rolled her eyes but said nothing. Instead, she walked over to where Mortarion was sat on her floor and gave him an appraising look. Quick as a snake, her hand moved to press at the pressure point in his neck. Moira noticed the flinch and the complete discomfort at her mother’s touch. “Mother!” she barked.

“Just checking! He might be one of _them_!” she retorted. Her hand snapped back however and she did look contrite.

“I did that already, you think I am stupid enough to let one of the dead ones in here?” Moira said. Her mother nodded and appeared to capitulate.

“Your Pa isn’t going to be pleased,” she said.

“I can go,” Mortarion said.

“Where?” Moira asked. “Night will fall soon and you need to be indoors for it.”

“Why?”

“The dead come at night, come to steal, come to destroy,” Moira exchanged a fearful look with her mother. “Come to take us away.” She shuddered, “We have a wooden palisade around the village but sometimes, it’s not enough. They come anyway and the walls don’t block the wails or the other noises.”

Mortarion’s face darkened then and he gave a nod. “I see,” he said.

“Do you?” her mother said, “Where did you come from anyway? We never get strangers here, the mountain fog keeps us trapped in this valley, there is nowhere else for us to go, so I ask, where did you come from?”

“The mountains,” he said. “I… I have always lived in the stronghold on the side of that mountain for as long as I remember. I knew I was not like… him.” Mortarion seemed reluctant to speak about where he had come from and Moira wondered how he had been treated up there. “He taught me all manner of things but not about myself. Every question I asked about where I came from, he avoided. I escaped and made my way down the mountain, that was when Moira found me,” he said.

His words seemed to have satisfied her as she gave a nod before heading into the kitchen. “You can stay here for now so long as Pa agrees,” she called back. Moira gave her new friend a smile, which was returned with the slightest twitch of his lips.

***

Satisfying her father proved to be a lot easier than Moira first thought. He had brought a storm in with him, the Barbarusian weather proving once more that it was a wild, fickle thing that was not to be trusted. He took a look at the stranger seated on the floor, wrapped in a blanket and grunted. Both Moira and her mother explained. His acceptance of their story was immediate and Moira suspected that it had more to do with his hunger than anything else.

Her father had raised one matter, which he raised while they ate, “We have to put this to the village,” he said. He was a gruff man, dark haired and well weathered from a life spent in the fields. “I have no problem so long as they don’t.”

“We can’t just leave h-“

“We’ll see what they say,” was all he would say on the matter. “We’ll head to the meeting tonight, settle the matter then.”

Moira watched Mortation squirm at the idea of meeting the village and she touched his scarred hand beneath the table. It was meant to be a reassuring gesture, however he pulled away quickly. Regardless, she was the one who found him, she would go along and plead his case too. It was only fair. The thought of him being ejected and left out there alone turned her blood to ice.

She had spent the course of the afternoon speaking with Mortarion and she had enjoyed his quiet company. He had told her of where he had lived previously, what his ‘father’ had taught him and why he had ran away. She in turn had explained a little more about the village, a bit about their way of life and the fears they had to deal with.

The story about the Necromancers, and how they sent their minions to take villagers so they could perform their experiments, caused particular anguish. Even when she assured him that it was not his fault, the expression did not leave his face. Moira did her best to smile, though the constant fear they lived with was exhausting. It seemed as though he was content to hear her speak, rather than engage in conversation, which was fine by her. She just hoped that they would be able to convince the others in the village that this pale, gaunt stranger should be allowed to stay with them.


	2. Chapter 2

The meeting had begun just after sundown. The community of Rooth had a hall in the centre of the village where matters were settled and meetings were held. It was not a large building but it was well built out of stone salvaged from the mountains. Crude glass filled small windows but as it was evening, it was lit by candles. Moira, Richard – her father, and Mortarion walked in and took their customary place. Each family had a table within the hall and tonight, a number were present.

They all looked up when the doors opened. Most of them did not look away as they usually did when they realised who it was. A hush descended over the room. A gust of wind followed them inside. Moira caught the door and shut it behind them. Her father jerked his head and they moved to their seat. The talk did not begin again. Moira sat next to her very tall friend, dearly hoping that this next part would go their way.

It was customary for her father to begin the proceedings, as he was the head of the family. He waited for drinks to be brought over and ensured they were both fine. Mortarion had remained silent throughout the walk, taking in the village and their surroundings. She wondered what questions he may have. Their lives were not glamorous, there was no luxury here but they managed. Sometimes, they were able to celebrate too. Moira was quietly proud of the lives they led and she secretly hoped that it would be alright for him too.

Her father took a sip of the watered beer they made before getting to his feet. Everyone looked at him. “You all know why I am here,” he said. His voice was gruff, however the villagers were used to his demeanour now. “My girl picked up this man on the road by the west field this morning.” Everyone’s eyes turned to Mortarion for a moment before looking back once more. “I’m going to let her explain,” he said.

Moira took a deep breath, pushed stray blonde hair from her face and stood up. She let out a calming breath before addressing the villagers who were present. It looked to be most of them and for a moment, she was unable to speak. When she began, she soon found her flow and before long, she was doing her best to explain what she had done and her reason behind it. “Friends, I brought Mortarion back here because it was the right thing to do, if we don’t help those who need it, how can we expect to be helped in turn?” she said.

She sat down then, not wanting to drag her discourse out and lose the interest of her companions. “What do you want with him?” Martin, one of the villagers asked.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I have many skills,” Mortarion said. His voice was as soft as it had been before but no one had trouble hearing him. He got to his feet, towering over anyone else who had gathered there, “I am well versed in the arts of war, I can fix up the palisade, ensure it stands. I can fight, I am well educated,” he said.

“Can you farm?” Duncan asked. Mortarion blinked.

“I…”

“We don’t need warriors, we need farmers,” there were a couple of grumbles of agreement. Moira rolled her eyes.

“You’re not going to make him leave just because he can’t farm,” she said aghast.

“We cannot have people here who make no contribution,” Martin said. At that moment, she could have knifed him. Again, there was mumbling of agreement.

“Give him a chance!” Moira said. “Besides, we can’t make him leave tonight! He can stay with me, I’ll ma-“

“Alright, alright,” Martian nodded, “One night isn’t going to make a difference.”

Her father gave the others a nod, “That settles it, he can stay for now.” That was all she had wanted to hear and she let out a small sigh of relief. She saw something similar happen to Mortarion and she smiled at him again. She was doing that a great deal it seemed.

“Just a couple of nights,” Martin said, “Then he has to go.” Her father finished the drink before him and knocked the glass down on the table. Accepting the village leader’s decision, he gave a nod before getting to his feet. She followed, as did Mortarion. It seemed a couple of days were all they were going to get. Still, it was better than nothing; at least he would be safe for a little while.

As they were walking back, Moira stole a glance at her friend. She felt more than saw his flush and it was then that she realised that he was not overly used to being with other people. His mannerisms were slightly awkward and he was very quiet. “What is it?” he asked.

“I had hoped you’d be able to stay,” she said with a small shake of her head.

“Why?”

“Because that would be the right thing to do,” she said looking down at her hands. He said no more on the subject and she fell silent too. Her father led them back to their cottage where her mother and brother were waiting. When they were all assembled and settled, he informed the others of the outcome. Moira had set herself on the floor, leaning against the chair in which her friend had sat himself. Her brother and mother occupied the double couch and her father was in his battered wing chair as always.

“Tomorrow, the three of you can tend the south field, like you should have done today Moira. The extra hand will help get the last of the crop tended to,” he said. She bowed her head in confirmation feeling a little guilty for just leaving her brother there today. Her mother had something in her hand and Moira tilted her head.

“What is that?” she asked. When her mother held it up, she noted that it was a shirt. The fabric was a thick cotton and the colour an off white with a green tinge to it.

“Cannot have our friend here walking about in little more than rags,” she said. She tossed the shirt to Mortarion, who caught it.

“Thank you,” he said. His voice was as soft as ever but his tone was sincere. Moira resisted the urge to pat his knee, knowing it would make him uncomfortable.

“Now, we don’t have a spare bed, our place is small, however you’re welcome to the spot in front of the fire,” her father said. “While you stay over the next couple of days, we’ll keep you fed but you’ll have to help with the work.” Mortarion nodded.

“I can work,” he said.

“The kids’ll take you tomorrow,” he said. Moira did not like being called a ‘kid’ anymore. She was pushing past her eighteenth birthday and that made her an adult! She didn’t pout however and gave a nod. She would be more than happy to show Mortarion around. Another look at him and she was wondering exactly how strong he was. He was tall, yes but he looked underfed, slender almost. Would he be able to wield a how or scythe at all? They would be in the field for a long time and that took stamina. They would find out tomorrow. “For now, you all need to rest,” her father said. He was not just giving them an instruction; he too got to his feet and headed over to the stairs. Her mother followed him and her brother too got up.

“Night,” he muttered before leaving the house.

“Do you not sleep in the house?” Mortarion asked.

“When we were too big to sleep in our parent’s room, father, along with some help from the villagers, built the annex. There was no way to attach it to the house without rebuilding the whole thing so we sleep out there,” she said, “It had a fire too so it’s not that cold,” she added. She pulled one of the pillows off the couch and handed it to him with a smile.

“But it is cold?”

“Sometimes,” she nodded, “There are thick blankets though so it’s alright.” She picked up the blanket he had used earlier from the back of the couch and unfolded it, “Thicker than this one,” she said.

He smiled at her, more than a mere twitch of his lips, a real one that reached his eyes. “Your kindness…” he said. It was clear he was struggling to find the words to say. Moira returned the smile.

“You’re welcome,” she said. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she added. He gave a nod and she turned away. It had been a long day and she was tired. Tomorrow was going to be just as long, though she hoped that there would be no more strangers on the road, one was quite enough!


	3. Chapter 3

They were up before the dawn the next day. Moira had slept soundly, as she always did and awoke without complaint or fuss. Breakfast was a simple, quiet affair made from some form of oat and milk. There was a little honey to sweeten it, which made it go down that bit easier and the silence that hung between the three of them was comfortable enough. Moira knew her father was already out ensuring the livestock, creatures that bore a grey wool and provided meat during the winter, had survived the night.

There was no talk until they had finished breakfast, tidied up and made their way out of the house. The sun was just poking up from beneath the horizon, but it was no delightful thing. The gloomy fog that made the entire world a sickly green colour had not lifted, nor would it ever and today just seemed extra sickly. Moira looked up for a moment, wondering if there were placed out there that had a clear sky, not a green blanket covering them. Most of the places on the planet were uninhabitable; the fog that blighted them was toxic and the only thing that survived out there was the dead. The high spaces were run by the Overlord, who was intent on stealing the living and making experiments out of them. Something she was keen to avoid where possible!

The tools were kept in a shed, safe and away from the marauding undead. No one in the village would want to take their tools, they were not so well made as to be coveted. Moira let Michael and Mortarion to the shed before opening it. Within were a range of scythes and sickles for reaping, hoes for tilling and other, heavier items for turning the soil. She reached in and picked out Michael’s scythe before taking her sickle. When she looked for something for their companion to use, she frowned. “I do not think these are going to be large enough,” she said. Mortarion may well be gaunt but he was by no means short.

“I can use that one at the back,” he said. Moira looked at the tool in which he pointed and pulled it out. It was larger than the others and because of this, it had not been used in some time. There was a thin layer of rust along the blade. When Mortarion had it in his hand, he inspected the blade with a clever eye. “This needs tending to,” he said finally.

“It’s been in there a while, do you know how to do so?”

“Of course,” he said.

Leaning down, she picked up the sharpening stone and handed it to him. He nodded a thanks but remained silent. “Do that at the field,” Michael said, “We don’t have the time to waste doing that now. At least when we are there, my sister and I can work while you fix it up.” With that, the three of them headed down to the far field in order to gather in the last of the crop that had been planted that year.

What they found when they got there was not what they were expecting.

When she had left the field, it had been covered in golden corn ripe for harvest. What was there now was a disaster! The palisade fence had collapsed in another place allowing the wandering dead in. They had decimated the crop; all that was left was a small section of wheat that had not been trampled. There would be enough to half fill one of the sacks. Moira’s sickle clattered to the floor as she covered her mouth. The blood drained from her face and her knees began to tremble. “What are we going to do?” she whispered.

Her brother’s hand touched her shoulder and she looked up at him. His jaw was set and his eyes were hard. “We salvage what we can, we take that and explain to father what happened.” His words had that bitter tone to them and she flinched.

“And the fence? We need that fence to protect everything else in here,” she said gesturing to the other fields. The remains of the palisade could be seen trampled into the dirt like matchsticks.

“We fix it,” Mortarion said. They both turned to look at him then. Mortarion shuffled, clearly uncomfortable with such direct scrutiny. He elaborated anyway, “Without a well made wall, the dead things are just going to keep coming back and pushing their way through. I will help you rebuild it,” he added.

Moira pressed her lips together as she thought about what Mortarion had said. Slowly she nodded. “This might seem a little self-serving perhaps but… I know Martin will say that with less food we won’t be able to feed everyone. I don’t want this to be the excuse that makes them force you out. If we build the fence then we have to let you stay. With less attacks in the long run there will be more food.” Mortarion nodded as though this had been going through his head already. May be it had.

“Moira,” Michael said, “I suggest that you salvage what you can from the wheat, I’ll show Mortarion where we get the wood from for fixing the fence,” he said. Moira nodded. Although she wanted to help them rebuild, she knew her limitations. She was nowhere near strong enough to lift the wood and get it in place. She would be of more use here.

“Alright,” she said. Besides, they would be working within view of her anyway so she would be able to keep an eye on the pair of them! There was no sign of the dead that had done this, there never was, only the destruction they left in their wake. It was with a heavy heart that she pulled the sack over and set to work cutting the corn that remained.

As she worked, she found her mind wondering over the problem of the dead. Was there ever going to be a way they could be free of this menace? It had threatened their lives for so long, she wondered if there had ever been anyone who had tried. Looking up at her brother and Mortarion, she smiled. At least they were dong something to make the place a little safer. Going out at night would never be an option but the fence might ensure most of the crops stayed safe!


End file.
